Confessions Of A Broken Princess
by Unlaced Opheliac
Summary: Previously called "Memoirs Of Miss. Minchin." The brutal past of Miss. Minchin and the reason why she she becomes the cruel lady. Based solely on the movie and not the book. Please read & review.
1. On Another's Sorrow

**I know Miss. Minchin's past has been done before but please read it anyway. xxx**

One – On Another's Sorrow

An eleven-year-old self-appointed princess. Soft, ringlet hair. Innocent blue eyes. A portrait of goodness. Popular and wealthy; kind and intelligent. The apple of her father's eye. The miracle her late mother had born. A mortal angel. The girls' whispered her name and praised her story telling and generosity.

Sara Crewe.

The name was poison of her lips. On Miss. Minchin's lips the name took on a hellish edge and fed on her insecurity…on her past. Whenever she looked at the girl she immediately felt as if she was looking into her own broken mirror.

The girl had the life she should have lived. The girl was the person she should have been. The girl was a mocking reminder of Miss. Minchin's inner torment, the one she hid behind a scowl and rigid attitude.

Dressed in rich attire, clutching her father's hand and with a fallen angel smile, Sara Crewe bewitched everybody eventually; but for Maria Minchin she was the Devil's aide who delighted in torturing the tortured. Maria Minchin knew that was what lay beneath Crewe's façade, that Crewe's saintly stance was an act; she had seen the same cruel attitude in her father. The man who was guilty of forcing little Maria's heart into a cage, never to be reopened.

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**So what do you think? There will be more chapters. Please review. All critiscm welcome. xxx**

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	2. For The Princess

Two – For the Princess

Everyone said that Eleanor Everwood was destined for great things.

Born on May 23rd 1865, when the roads were paved with revelry and a parade rode down Washington's Pennsylvania Avenue to celebrate the end of the Civil War in which the Yankees and her father were victorious; the birth of such a princess was a sign to any who had lost a loved one in the four year battle, that God was grateful for their bravery and was rewarding them in their emancipation of the slaves. A Royal Yankee brought tears to neighbours eyes and insured relations to boast about the bloodline that they shared with her.

Even if Eleanor hadn't been born on this day she would have been adored, for she was the result of the union between the hero Captain Taylor Everwood, who descended from other brave soldiers, and the aristocratic beauty of Beatrix Baudelaire. Such lineage and such a future was enough for people to overlook the shame of Captain Taylor's first born being a girl. And so it was that Eleanor Liberty Katie Everwood became popular before she had even taken her first step.

Her childhood was filled with celebrations and play dates with respectable and wealthy families, her mother already determined that her daughter should marry the finest man in all of Washington, and when Eleanor's brother was born four years later, he too was invited to these parties of prestige. Eleanor was sheltered from harsh realities and so protected was she, that she believed hardship to be a word used only in fiction. Only when she was fifteen did Eleanor discover the despair that resided in the outside world, and so alien was it, that its pain was brutally intensified in her pure heart.

The tainting of her soul was her mother's death. Beatrix had secretly been battling with a disease for years, never asking for help or showing any wounds.

Guilty and mournful of his beloved's demise, Captain Taylor clung desperately to his children, the two reflections of his wife, and while Edward responded with an unmanly solace, so broken was Eleanor that she turned elsewhere – into the arms of the poor blacksmith Joseph Minchin.

Joseph had worked for the Everwood's for some time but until the death of her mother, Eleanor had never noticed him – he was just another hand on the Everwood estate. Now he was her saviour, her lover and the core of her being. In the privacy of her chamber, when her honeycomb hair fanned beneath her on the pillow, Eleanor longed to see Joseph's face, hear his voice, feel his touch and taste his lips. To let him take her when there wasn't even a wedding ring on her finger didn't feel sinful like the Bible foretold, rather it felt like heaven had left the skies in favour for the entwinement of their bodies. When his rough hands held her in the seclusion of his hovel of a house, she could feel the grief in heart ebbing away with the future she had planned for herself. She no longer wanted to marry Anthony Bennett and bear his children; she wanted to marry Joseph and belong completely to him. He was hers and she was his.

After months of secrecy Eleanor got the courage to inform her father about her love affair with Joseph and how, she had plans to marry him. Naturally Captain Everwood was aghast and would have shot Joseph for insulting his daughter's virtue if Eleanor's wide blue eyes – the eyes that were parallel to her late mother's – hadn't pleaded with him for acceptance. She divulged how Joseph was kind and loving to her and how he had helped her mourn her mother, a job no one else seemed to have the capacity to do. She then gave an ultimatum to Captain Everwood that either he gave his blessing to their marriage or Eleanor would elope with Joseph and never see any of her family again. Made weak by his wife's death, Captain Everwood grudgingly accepted Joseph into the family and Eleanor and Joseph were hastily married in a union that shocked the Washington society, but for once Eleanor didn't care about others disapprove; all she cared for was her husband.

At first Joseph Minchin couldn't believe his luck to find Eleanor Everwood so willing and doting at his feet, and he bathed in his masculine glory at possessing such a beautiful princess when he himself was nothing more than a pauper; but a few months after the wedding ceremony, this triumph transformed into a jealous bitterness. The realization that his wife - the woman he was supposed to be superior to - was wealthier, more intelligent and with more social standing and power than he would ever possess, hit Joseph hard. Snide remarks about Eleanor being the 'bread winner' of the family (Joseph's father-in-law having given him an office job rather than the degrading profession he had had) taunted Joseph's hearing and a powerful rage began to build inside Joseph's soul. This rage channelled itself into hard beatings which Eleanor felt the wrath of.

Many a night she was thrown across the rooms of their small apartment as if she was nothing more than a rag doll, and the smell of whisky, once so comforting, made her gag with memories of Joseph's drunken violence. His punishments increased and yet so did Eleanor's love for him.

It was in this sadistic home, where the drunken Devil ruled supreme and the angel Gabriel was tortured, that Maria Minchin was born – her future neither bright nor happy; destined already for horrors.

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**What do you think? Please, please, please let me know. xxx**


	3. Tyger Tyger

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters from the film and the book "A Little Princess" nor is the poem in this chapter mine. The poem is called "Tyger Tyger" and is by the poet William Blake.**

Three – Tyger Tyger

It was only July and yet the summer air was already suffocating all the inhabitants of Washington. As soon as the seasonal tepid rain had evaporated from the dusty streets two weeks previous, a stifling heat had descended upon the land making people long for just a few drops of rain or even to see a dark cloud float in front of the burning sun. The sky was too blue, too flawless and too perfect to provide any comfort for the citizens. Gentlemen wanted to neglect their work in favour of a cool glass of lemonade in the shade of trees; women longed to be in the privacy of their chambers so that they could loosen their corsets and the tight knots of their hair; and the elderly complained about the lack of morals that possessed the young when there was heat. It was only the children who enjoyed the torturous temperature as its presence made parents too idle to discipline their brood with their usual vigour, as well as ensuring numerous invitations to barbeques and parties. It was because of this weather – this constricting weather that brought with it bitter tastes and nauseating aromas – that little Tammy Ludlow was proud that her birthday was in July. For someone as precocious and self-centred as Tammy, having her birthday party on the hottest day of the year, guaranteed that everyone would remember her party before it had even started.

The house on Peartree Road had been decorated with balloons for Tammy's birthday and in the garden a small marquee sheltered all Tammy's unopened presents from wandering hands (the entire party would have the 'pleasure' of watching Tammy unwrap them on the hour of two). A clown had been hired to entertain the children, and instruments had been set up beside the pond for music to be played later in the afternoon. The finest food had been selected and made for the guests enjoyment – chicken, beef, lamb, boiled potatoes, coleslaw, strawberries, trifles, ice cream –; everything and anything anyone could ever want to eat; and in the centre of this food was the three tiered birthday cake that had been designed and created especially for Tammy. One hundred invitations had been sent to only the most prestigious families in Washington and it had been confirmed the most of them were already attending. It was peculiar to outsiders into why Tristan and Honey Ludlow had spent so much time and money in the birthday party for their youngest daughter, but she was their darling Tammy, the most popular and adored out of all their children, and if she wanted the moon they would find a way to let her play with it.

Tammy was the sweetheart to all of Washington parents' eyes, and the most favoured playmate to their elite children. She looked like an angel with golden hair and blue eyes, and smiled innocently and spoke softly when in the company of adults, but to those she disliked Tammy transformed into a horrific little child who would pull hair, kick and punch just to get her own way. She became the Devil's daughter to those unfortunate few she hated and unfortunately Maria Minchin was one of the few.

Maria hadn't wanted to come to Tammy's party and she probably wouldn't have been invited if her mother hadn't been Eleanor Everwood. She had begged her mother to let her stay, knowing of Tammy's disgust of her, but for once Eleanor had been unmovable on a decision and although she didn't say it, Maria knew Eleanor wanted to show off Maria's new baby sister Emelia. And so Maria had been wrestled into her best dress – a salmon pink dress that was raggedy from use – and had walked the funeral march to Tammy's house, angrily kicking her feet out in front of her. Eleanor refused to be manipulated into returning home by her four-year-old daughter and concentrated on the gurgling Emelia, who despite the heat, was gurgling happily.

Soon they had arrived at the house, but not a minute had passed before Tammy had whispered in Maria's ear to stay away from her and her friends. Maliciously she told Maria that she didn't want her at the party and that it was only because of her parent's insistence that she was even there. She then flicked her golden ringlets into Maria's face and sauntered off to the group of adoring children who stood waiting for her. Now Maria stood in the dark shades of the overgrown trees, too ashamed to stand by her mother but too scared to converse with any of the other children. If only Mia was old enough to talk and walk, then the two sisters could stand together, two misfit sisters against the snobbish Washington society; but until that time, Maria was a solitary soldier fighting a losing battle against the brutal warriors.

The reason why Maria was ostracized from play was due to her father's occupation and social standing. No matter how rich and respected Eleanor and her family were, Maria was still the offspring of common Joseph Minchin. The footman who had caused a scandal when he had married the elegant daughter of Beatrix Baudelaire, who had then the audacity to accept a job from his father-in-law. Maria, and indeed Emelia, were tainted in the eyes of their neighbours before they had even been born, and their prejudices had been passed onto their children. Rich children mocked and ignored her; poor children teased and insulted her, jealous of the prosperous Everwood blood that ran through her veins. She would remain the eternal outcast unless she did something about it.

"My turn, my turn," came the demanding voice of Tammy as she attempted to pin the tail on the donkey. "India you've already had your turn. It's my turn. I am the birthday girl."

Maria rolled her eyes, angry and resentful to the adored Tammy. It was like poison watching the children play with their innocence still intact. They didn't have a father like hers or a bleak future ahead of them. Unable to watch the scene any longer, Maria turned from the garden and sulked towards the house, hiding in the bushes so as not to come into contact with inquiring eyes.

Maria had been in the Ludlow's house before and she always found herself finding solitude in the library, her love of books violently contrasting against her young age. Her mother had taught her aged two to read and since that time Maria had devoured every book she could get her hands on. Most of the time she didn't understand what the novelists were trying to convey and she didn't have the intellect to uncover hidden meanings in text, but the written words comforted her. Whenever she read she departed from her world and arrived in a world of beautiful fantasy where she could be anything she wanted to be. She was Alice and books were her looking glass. The Ludlow library wasn't as grand as that was in her grandfather's estate, but it had a subtle splendour that warmed Maria's little heart. Sighing to herself and feeling relieved from escaping from the party, Maria went in search of a book, determined to curb the insecurities that had began to grow when she stood in isolation in the garden.

…

"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright  
In the forests of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye  
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?  
On what wings dare he aspire?  
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?  
And when thy heart began to beat,  
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?  
In what furnace was thy brain?  
What the anvil? what dread grasp  
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,  
And watered heaven with their tears,  
Did he smile his work to see?  
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright  
In the forests of the night,  
What immortal hand or eye  
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Maria was tracing the familiar poem of William Blake with her small fingers, concentrating on the words that were like a kindred soul confined to pages, when she heard the library door open. She snapped the book shut and was about to run for cover, not prepared to leave the library just yet, when she heard the sweet tones of her mother's voice.

"Maria, Maria my darling."

"I'm here Mama."

Eleanor soon came into view, her beautiful face shining with pride as she spied her eldest daughter. Her smile however faltered when she saw that Maria's face was one of sadness and rushed to her daughter's side, her skirts rustling beneath her.

"My darling whatever is the matter?"

Maria looked into her mother's wide violet eyes and burst into tears.

"I want to go home Mama," she choked.

Despite her age Maria Minchin hardly ever cried and it was because of this foreign act that Eleanor swept her daughter of her feet and placed her on her lap, gently rocking her against her bosom. Her voice was patient and soothing, gently pleading with her daughter to divulge the cause of her sorrow, and slowly Maria found the words to answer her mother.

"They all hate my Mama. Everyone in Washington hates me."

"Now darling, I have no clue into what you're talking about."

"Yes you do Mama; don't pretend you don't. They all hate me because of Daddy. They hate me because Daddy's poor and they'd never accept me because I'm poor."

Eleanor's eyes widened with disbelief, aghast that her daughter was already being subjected to the intolerance of having Joseph as a father. This disbelief soon turned to anger and if she wasn't a lady, Eleanor would have retreated back into the garden to attack Honey Ludlow and the other mothers who had felt it necessary to blaspheme her daughter, but her maternal instinct was too strong to desert Maria in her time of need and so Eleanor ignored her rage and tried to comfort Maria.

"Darling do you really want to be friends with people that judge you purely on your father's job?"

"I want friends Mama, that's all."

"But friends like you for you and not because of money."

"Not here they don't. In Washington they like you because of who your parents are, and although they all love you Mama they don't like Daddy. I'm never going to be loved!"

She began to howl, but Eleanor hushed her into silence.

"Now Maria Minchin you know that isn't true. You have a family that love you very much. A devoted mother, a besotted sister and a worshiping father."

"Daddy doesn't worship me," Maria said quietly. "Daddy hates me."

"Maria…" Eleanor warned.

Maria wiped the tears from her eyes.

"It's true Mama. He always shouts at me and hits me. He hates me."

Maria was silent once more, reflecting on her father's hatred towards her. He was so violent and rude to her, to both her and her mother, how was that love? Love consisted of kisses, praise and protection; her father embodied none of those things. He hated her because of what she was – a silly little girl. She was unnatural; a brat that should never have been born. If her father thought that then how could others see otherwise?

But Eleanor didn't share her husband's view on their daughter. To her she was the light of her life and the miracle that God had placed most graciously in her arms. She had been handled an angel to keep and Eleanor saw her as nothing less. Beautiful ebony hair, shiny black eyes, porcelain skin and sharp aristocratic features; Maria was her mother's princess.

"Daddy doesn't show his love as I do Maria, but trust in me that he does love you. However he doesn't love you as much as I do Maria, no-one could. And the other children Maria, why I bet they're just jealous of you."

"Jealous? Why?" asked Maria with innocent curiosity.

Eleanor whispered in her ear. "Because you're an Everwood darling. A true Everwood."

"Really Mama? I am?"

"Yes it's in your blood, and because you are destined for great things I'm going to give you this."

Eleanor reached up to her slender neck and unclasped the simple locket that had been passed down from her mother's French family. It had been in the family for four generations and now it would belong to Maria. Carefully she placed it around Maria's neck.

"This necklace Maria, has been given to all the great aristocratic ladies of your Grandmother Beatrix's family. I've owned it, my mother has owned it and her mother before it has owned it. Nothing can challenge it in prestige or elegance, and now my darling daughter it belongs to you."

Maria gingerly held the silver pendent and sighed softly.

"It's really mine?"

"Yes it's really yours, and one day my angel you will be the greatest lady in all of Washington, the greatest lady in the entire world and do you know what little Tammy Ludlow will be? No…she'll be a chimney sweep."

Maria giggled and nestled up against her mother. Eleanor kissed the top of her daughter's head.

"You're a little princess Maria; my little princess."

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**So what do you think? Please review and if you don't like it can you please tell me why. xxx**

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	4. I Am A Princess

Four – I Am A Princess

For most children their first memory is a happy one. It might be the first time they saw the sea, or a summer picnic, or the time when they were given a unique china doll named Esmeralda. One thing is for certain; that first memory remains with the person to tell, to their children and grandchildren until they close their eyes on God's divan; and so it was with regret that Maria Minchin's first memory was one devoid of love and compassion. It was more a nightmare than a memory.

This sickening recollection was of Maria's stagnant father Joseph raising his powerful fists and hitting the couch with all his might. Every hit a soft groan and scared yelp echoed through the room and although little Maria couldn't see her, she knew the one making the noises and the one taking her father's beating, was her beloved mother Eleanor. After her father had sulked out of the house making another destructive path, Maria had treaded carefully to where her mother lay. From her lips Maria had made a sound that shattered all the innocence in her three-year-old heart. They lay Eleanor, covered in red tainting stains and her angelic face plagued with purple lumps; a personified form of heartbreak.

In the night, that effigy of a blackened bride haunted Maria and in the day, the various cuts that grazed Maria's body stood in a mocking salute to Maria. Her mother diverted Joseph's fists from her daughter to her own delicate body. She protected Maria, both of her daughters, and it was Maria's punishment to bear witness to the attacks and aftermaths; God was torturing the coward in her.

Maria knew this, but it didn't get any easier; if anything it got harder; and as she sat huddled under the kitchen table with her whimpering sister next to her, Maria wanted to commit her body to the soil so she would never cause suffering again. She wanted to forget everything she had seen. She wanted to be an unmovable sculpture that no-one could mould into their image. She wanted to be nothing but dust.

As Maria hugged her knees, her thick black hair falling down her back, her lighter sister Emilia began to wet the floor with her toddler tears. Afraid that these tears would soon turn to a howling, Maria turned to her sister.

"What is it Mia?" she whispered.

"Mama hurt," Mia replied, in her simple tongue. "Mama hurt."

"I know Mia. I know," Maria soothed.

"Papa hurt Mama. Beat her like a dog."

"Shhh Emilia…"

"Why won't it stop?"

The last remark was said in a tone of desperation that never should find the vocal cords of someone so young. Emilia began to rock back and forth; her hands pulling at her ears in a vain tempt to twist them off her head. Maria's eyes widened.

What should she do? Should she calm Mia? If she didn't then she would make an even bigger noise and that would be bad…very bad; but how to calm her? Suddenly the words Eleanor had used to describe Maria's job as an older sister came flooding back to the girl.

Emilia had been but a day old, and Maria was propped up in bed, her two girls surrounding her; Joseph was at the tavern, aghast that his 'useless wife' had given him yet another daughter. Proudly Eleanor had given Maria her duties.

"As an older sibling Maria, you must protect your sister above everything else. The relationship between sisters is rawer than any other relationship you will ever have, and although it will be volatile at time, my princess you will never stop loving her and she you. You will know her better than I can ever hope to and you must use this bond to your advantage. When she is upset, dry her tears; when she is scared fight her demons; and when she is ill, become her tender tourniquet. At once you will become the crux of her little life, but you must earn the title to remain so in her later years. Maria, you two are the other halves of each other's soul."

Filled with determination Maria sighed. Carefully she removed Emilia's hands and brushed away her tears.

"Emilia, do you want me to tell you a story?"

Emilia sniffed and nodded.

"Ok then.

"Everyone believes that they are alone when they travel through life no matter how many mortal companions they have; but they are not alone. Each human, including you, me and Mama, has a guardian angel that has been with us from birth. I could describe to you what they look like, but it would be of no use. As pointless as trying to describe the beauty of the stars or the warmth of the sun. Anyway, they feel what we feel. Love, pain, hurt, fright, joy; every emotion is reflected back into their hearts. They adore us and we adore them. 

"However there was one angel named Anahera who crossed the thin border between adoration and obsession.

"Anahera had looked after many mortals in her immortal life, but when she was given the young girl called Carmelita to take care of, Anahera fell completely in love with her. If was an unhealthy, self-destroying love but it was also an addiction that Anahera could not, and would not, break. The Lord Almighty worried about his angel, but as she was one of his favourite, he gave no warnings to the fall she would ultimately take.

"Now when Carmelita was eight, her mother perished in a fire. She was distraught and sunk into the darkness. Immediately Anahera knew she had to do something to save her child and so begged the Lord Almighty to make her a mortal so she could physically watch over the vulnerable girl. Such an act had never happened before and it was sickening for the other angels to hear Anahera's proposal; but no matter how disgusting it was, the Lord Almighty granted Anahera's wish and made her mortal.

"Sickness, pain, evil and death were the human threats that lay in wait to capture Anahera's beautiful, albeit jarring, mortal form. Anahera could see no curses however, only the chasing of her Carmelita.

"She found Carmelita and asked her widowed father if she, Ana Milton, could be employed by him to be Carmelita's nurse and governess. Still mourning his wife, the widower accepted such an offer and Anahera was permitted to dance in Carmelita's intimate company.

"The two became bound together almost immediately and the first years of Anahera's mortal existence was far greater than anything she could have imagined. She was could hear Carmelita's crystal laughter without the muffling of clouds; she could touch Carmelita's velvet ringlets; and she could hold Carmelita's petite form when she cried for her mother. Such bliss had to be broken eventually.

"As Carmelita reached pubescence Anahera knew that she would soon be mercilessly torn from her charge, Carmelita no longer needing a nurse or governess. There was only one option then: to marry Carmelita's father and therefore insure she was forever at Carmelita's fingertips. Little did Anahera realize though that she had a rival and that rival was her own precious cherub.

"Carmelita's best friend was a mousy little child called Garnet. Garnet's own father had died when she was a new born babe, and after years of grief both Garnet and Carmelita thought it was the right time for their parents to marry. When the widower and Freya were joined in holy matrimony, then the two girls would be sisters. With such a dream as this Anahera had no chance of winning the widower's heart and the couple soon married. Freya quickly became Carmelita's new mother and Anahera was tossed aside as if she was a broken toy. Abandonment was a new feeling for Anahera, increasing with every waking hour until Anahera could take no more. She took to her knees and prayed with the Lord Almighty for forgiveness and to be allowed back to her angelic life. She didn't want this pain and so would he please save her…

"The Lord Almighty heard her cries and gave her immortality. He refused however to accept her back into his arms. He told the weeping Anahera to go from this child and make another life, and to help lost children who needed to hear her passionately beating heart.

"And so Anahera left her Carmelita and started soothing the tribulations of young children. If ever a child needed her she would come and sing them to sleep. If you ever need her Emilia, just ask for her and she will come. Anahera will always protect you."

Maria glanced down at her sister who had crawled up into a ball, her head on her lap. She smiled up at Maria before softly closing her eyes.

As Maria absentmindedly started to stroke her sister's flaxen hair, the thumbs in the other room slowly dying away, she thought about her own guardian angel and how she lived in her mother. Eleanor would protect her, she would protect Emilia. It was simple but eternal, just like a child's first memory.

The first time a child saw the crashing of the thunderous waves; a summer picnic attacked by stinging bees; a unique china doll called Esmeralda flying through the air and crashing onto the floor leaving fragmented pieces of what could have been.

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**Please review and if you don't like it can you please tell me why. xxx**


	5. Angel Wings

Five – Angel Wings

The month was June, the first month of summer, and yet it was raining with an unrelenting force that was more common in the winter seasons. It had caused confusion in Washington and gentile small talk among acquaintances, discussing and investigating its cause; but there was only one person who knew its spontaneous arrival: Maria Minchin.

Maria knew why the rain was falling, and she also knew that it was all her doing. As soon as she had woken up and heard the violent thuds on the roof above her, she knew that the rain was her unshed tears. The tears she refused to release from her heavy heart. God was trying to lift her burden of sorrow and Maria clutched to the belief that as soon as the rain subsided, as soon as the day was over, then everything would be simple and sweet. Sunlight would penetrate her young soul and she would take on the form of a floating feather, gently embracing the wind while she travelled a stardust path. The truth was though, that Maria knew that this hope was a hollow fairy story created by her imagination to avoid reality. Beneath the veil, Maria knew that her mother was dead and there was no way to resurrect her body.

Eleanor was being committed to the ground – the soil locking away her violet eyes, the grass muting the nightingale's song from her mother's lips, the morbid smell of graveyards erasing the familiar smell of rose petals that encased off Eleanor's soft skin. The Earth had stolen her mother from her and all that remained with Maria were her skeleton leaf memories. Now the fluffy gold hair of Eleanor was as meaningless as frayed string; but the most devastating realization was the fact that she, Maria, would never be loved again. She was only eight and ready to die. Didn't everybody want that?

Her father so bitter and resentful to her, the child that lived while his son had died alongside his wife; her grandfather who longed to look in Eleanor's looking-glass eyes just once more, to see his late wife Beatrix for a final encounter; her uncle who hated all Minchins (whether he be related to them or not) for taking his sister from his family, before death as well as after; and the people of Washington who could not believe that they had lost an angel. Maria knew that people wanted her to fade away and disappear. She knew that as soon as the reaper took her hand, people would celebrate. With her mother dead, Maria was just the shadow of a shadow. She was a nightmare's footprint.

Maria lifted her dreamy mask to take note of the mourners that stood around her. They were all gathered in the cemetery, the Washington elite, and how she hated them all. This was her mother's funeral yet they didn't know her. Nobody but her did. Why should they come? They were crying over the effigy of a goddess they had lost; she was crying over the root of her very self being lost. They knew nothing about Eleanor Minchin, only her family did.

Maria looked at her sister who was weeping next to her, one hand held in her sisters, the other clinging onto her grandfather's shaking wrist. Emilia with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Emilia was fortunate. She only had to look in the mirror to be reminded of their mother. Although she hadn't inherited their mother's delicate form and angelic face, she had the same lightness. A shaky imitation was what Emilia was and Maria found herself envying her little sister. Maria wondered how Emilia could seek comfort in their foreign grandfather who, in normal circumstances, ignored his two grandchildren, but then Mia had always clung to those with any paternal gene in their body. Their own father had bypassed the funeral in exchange for the pub. Gossip of his absence would swarm the town like a plague of locust for days, but for once Maria understood his anger. She knew that he wasn't sad about Eleanor's death, rather about the son who had died. Childbirth had taken Eleanor's precious life as she gave birth to the son Joseph had always wanted. She had died three minutes after her son had, and any hope of Joseph reforming had died with them.

The one thing that Joseph Minchin had always wanted was a son.

He had been brought up in a house surrounded by women, his own father dying in a drunken brawl when Joseph was three months old, and he had always wished for a brother. He had three older sisters and they never provided the companionship that Joseph longed for. They wouldn't play war with him, or fish in the nearby river, or even race him down the street; a brother would. Sure he had friends, but they never conquered the solidarity that Joseph knew his fictional brother would achieve. They would be as close as Joseph and his shadow, and would become legendary among his peers. For years he had kept on hold on this brotherly wish until it was quite obvious that his mother was too old to have any more children. The reality of a brother was had been locked behind the gates of fantasy. Instead of letting go of his dream though Joseph turned his desire into having a son; someone to teach things to and finally get that masculine amity he had dreamed of. When he had married Eleanor therefore he had believed that he would be given a son in a matter of months, but that wasn't what God had planned for Joseph. After nine years of marriage all he had was two little girls. Two little girls, one light and one dark, which were a constant embarrassment to him and his masculinity. He was laughed at not only for being poorer than his wife, but also for not being unable to sire a son. He was a joke throughout Washington – he was sure of it – but when Eleanor had fallen pregnant a third time, Joseph knew that it would all change. They would have had a son named Joseph Boyd Minchin and he would have been the most popular boy in all of Washington, having inherited his father's brooding dark looks and Eleanor's pedigree. He would have gone to Harvard to study law and then set up a house where he would have supported his retired and respected father, redefining the Minchin name with his success. Yes, little Joseph had been the key to Joseph regaining the appreciation he so deserved; and as Maria had lay in labour, Joseph had made a promise to be a better husband and father to this family. He would be reborn, but then his son had died. Joseph, once again, had nothing.

Maria wished she could be the son her father craved. If only she was born a boy then her family would be united in love and protection. She was a girl though. If only her mother was alive than she could be the light in her daughter's life, but for the first time Maria knew that wishes were futile. Fantasy was futile. Stories were futile. They were all blocking reality with their narcissistic promises. Maria knew the truth

The angel Eleanor had returned to Heaven.

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**I'm not too sure about this chapter. I thought it was a bit rushed. What do you think? Also what do you think about my portrayal of Miss. Minchin. Please review.**

**xxx**


	6. Just Make Believe

Six – Just Make Believe

It was two nights before Christmas and the days were already tense with children's expectations of the upcoming season. Magical tales were already being told by the fireside, kitchens were gathering food – pheasant, Christmas pudding, roasted potatoes, peas and carrots– for the family meal, and carols were flooding into the street as tender as any mother's kiss. Plump rosy faces belonging to innocent children were pressed against the window panes, so absorbed in the watching of the falling snow that they were deaf to their parents' hushed conspiracies of Christmas gifts. Joy, harmony and love was the blanket of Christmas and it wrapped itself around all those that embraced it; but this blanket that was a precious as Veronica's Veil was only attainable to the affluent; poor little girls like Maria Minchin were left to shiver in the cold air with only un-grantable wishes and fragile snowflakes to keep them company.

Dressed in a thin black coat and with holey gloves, cotton tights and flimsy plimsolls Maria was every bit the street child with not even a hint of lineage in her features. Holding the pack of matches tightly in her hands, Maria was often mistaken for being the bastard daughter of a scarlet lady rather than her true bloodline of French aristocracy. Even sweet-faced Emilia was believed to be a ragamuffin and she had inherited their mother's light looks. Those that did recognize the Minchin girls when out on the streets knew them to be nothing more than Joseph Minchin's children and that ensured that the rich would never respect or show compassion to them. When amongst the crowds, Maria found herself looking for just a single familiar face (even the pouting lips of Tammy Ludlow), anyone who would return her home to Washington where both her mother and childhood were buried. No-one had made themselves known yet, but Maria desperately clung onto this hope knowing that if she let it go she would most definitely perish.

It had been ten days after her mother's funeral that Joseph had pocketed his wages and taken his children away from the sheltered Washington and into the unforgiving streets of New York City. He wanted to be reborn and felt that New York would be the place to do this. It was unusual to find such naïveté in a man so brutal, but whether he was too drunk for realization or just a simple fool, Joseph was positive that his destiny was in New York. He had even sold everything that had been in their Washington home – furniture, books, Eleanor's clothing and jewellery – leaving the house to look as if it had never housed a family. To Maria the greatest sin had been that: the erasement of her mother; and if it wasn't for the family locket securely tightened around her neck, Maria would have descended into an obsession into retrieving her mother's belongings.

That locket. It seemed a lifetime ago when Maria had been given that heirloom when actually it had only been four years. Tammy Ludlow's party, in the library, with a William Blake poem resting in her lap. Back then she had been distraught from being ostracized. Now she was older and wiser. She would gladly return to the day when the sky was full of spices, and confront and conquer over Tammy finally making everyone acknowledge her. Previous tears seemed petty compared to her present hardship.

On arrival in New York, Maria was immediately sent to work, an event she had never partaken in before despite her father's humble background. At first she had protested most vehemently at the idea, shrieking with indignation that she was Eleanor Everwood's daughter, granddaughter to Captain Taylor and Lady Beatrix Baudelaire, a girl who had Royal blood running through her veins; a few of her father's notorious beating sent her into submission. In daylight she cleaned houses along with her sister and other emaciated souls. At night-time she sold matchstick by the side of the road.

Maria Minchin, the matchstick girl.

It was this job she hated the most and after hours of freezing for the sake of invisible money, Maria decided to return home where her sister and food lay waiting.

Fortunately for Maria's stomach and temperature it took her little more than ten minutes to walk home, but seeing as she lived on the Docks, she would have to pass by various taverns. Hopefully her father wouldn't be seated next to a window as Maria knew that if he saw her he would make her wait for him (there was no doubt in her mind that he would be in a tavern – he always was).

On the way through the harrowing alleyways, Maria rushed passed a whole score of tainted people – liquor addicts, leering perverts, screaming looms, red corseted women, weeping children and thieves– and her Catholic upbringing made her want to cross herself. Knowing of the religious taboo present in the narrow streets however, Maria controlled her urge and soon enough she stood on the courtyard of her house.

The Minchins were currently renting their house from a scowling old woman simply known as Cook. Maria knew not of her first name or even if 'Cook' was present in her name at all. Cook was so scary that the less Maria knew about her, the easier she could sleep at night. There was a rumour amongst the children of the Docks that Cook was a murderer who, on discovering her husband's infidelities with a young busty barmaid, had killed her husband's mistress, cooked her limps in a pot and fed her remains to the ignorant cheating husband. Emilia had had nightmare for days, but Maria thought it sounded too much like Mrs. Lovett and so paid no heed to the tale, albeit it would explain how Cook got her name. Maria always avoided the old woman, but regrettably that night Cook was standing outside the house, mumbling erratically to herself. Maria was about to turn back and take the long route round that led to the back door of her house, but it was too late – Cook's beady eyes had spotted her.

"Maria!" she screeched. "Maria!"

Preparing herself Maria walked over to her, trembling at the sight of Cook's wild hair and savaged face. Witch, witch, witch were the words that encircled Maria's mind.

"Good evening Ma'am," greeted Maria, as she slightly bowed her head. "How are you?"

"What an impertinent question child," snapped Cook. "Did your mother teach you no manners?"

Maria bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to restrain her own insulting tirade from pouring out. She hissed an apology, but still Cook was aggressive.

"What you been up to this late hour? Tell me and don't you lie to me child!"

_Patience Maria, patience._

In her most polite voice Maria answered.

"Work Ma'am. I have been at work."

Cook's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing scandalous I hope."

Maria blushed.

"I am only eight," she mumbled.

"I've seen younger girls than you sell themselves," said Cook, suspicion still clear in her voice. "I once saw a girl at aged six selling her-"

Suddenly Cook was interrupted by the opening of the Minchins' front door, and like a miniature guardian angel Emilia stood there; ready to rescue her sisters from the grotesque tales of exploitation from Cook's mouth. With fluffy hair and wide eyes Emilia was the deceiving picture of innocence, but only her sister knew of this deception; the rest were victim to it.

"Big sister, can you help me with dinner? I can't lift up the big pot by myself," asked Emilia sweetly. "Oh hello Ma'am. I'm going to have to steal big sis from you. My tummy is starting to rumble." Emilia grabbed her sister's hand and began to pull her inside. "Good night Ma'am."

And with the closing of the door, Cook was locked away from the sisters, the last sound coming from her being an aggravated huff. Maria turned a smiled broadly at her sister.

"Thank-you Mia," she said.

"You're welcome," Emilia smiled back.

Maria started to brush the stardust from her black hair and unburdened herself from her damp and heavy clothes. She was pleased to notice her father was indeed out.

"Tut, tut lying to Cook," Maria joked.

"I wasn't really lying sis. I haven't been able to eat yet. I can't find anything to cook."

Maria sighed, having been looking forward to a meal by the fireside but after years of disappointment she knew how to hide her sadness. She smiled, walked obediently to the cupboards and started sifting through the depressingly poor food. In the end Maria managed to make two reasonably sized omelettes and as she cooked, she heard all about Emilia's day, both girls taking advantage of their father's absence.

Emilia confessed to Maria that she had found a kitten with her friend Roger and, although the kitten lived with him, it belonged to both of them. Apparently they had named it Pebbles after finding it playing with stones. For one blissful moment they were two normal girls, free of desperation and premature despair.

As they picked up their forks to eat, the two girls fell into a comfortable silence, passionately devouring each mouthful until there was nothing left. They were still hungry, but with no more food they decided to go to bed, sleep providing the nutrients they needed.

As Maria's head hit the pillow she sighed. Dreams were the only place in which she truly lived.

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**Please tell me what you think. I know I sort of rushed the end for which I am sorry. Please review and tell me what you think of the portrayal of Miss. Minchin's character. I'm not to sure. Thanks.**

**xxx**


	7. Children Running

Seven – Children Running

Through the murky puddles Maria ran, silently cursing the raindrops that fell hard and without mercy on her burning limbs. Above, the sky was the ripped hieroglyph of sin and it growled with a menace akin to that of one thousand, blood-thirsty convicts. Eerily there was no wind that howled or any slight tremors in the air, only the running black haired girl and her blonde sister; both had long abandoned ladylike manners as desperation had a far greater power than dignity.

Their destination was the train station which would ultimately lead them to Washington, the only sanctuary they had ever known. They had decided to leave the horrors of New York – the violence, the poverty, Cook, their father – in favour of the family they didn't know; the family who had been cruel enough to neglect the motherless girls.

The Everwoods may not have loved them, may have resented them for the stain they had put upon the family name – upon Eleanor's name – but the Everwoods were not sadistic. They were not abusive and macabre as their father was. They were not twisted; and so under a veil of stars the Minchin sisters had run away from their drunkard father, seeking solace in the shadows and protection from the clouded moon.

Both of them were blind to their fate, Maria masquerading as an explorer to calm her sister's delicate nerves. If Emilia knew that they ran without money or strength than her sister would be lost to hysteria and then they would never reach their family.

'_My little princess. My little princess.'_

The deep recollection rang through Maria's head and she had to hold a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. She wouldn't slow down though. Not when they still breathed the same air of their demonic father. She could still smell him – the putrid smell of drink, excrement and lust – on her virginal skin as his haggard breath began to whisper promises of incest.

'_My little princess. My little princess now Maria.'_

Empty eyes struggled to focus on the darkness in front of her, but she continued, Emilia hand held tightly in her own.

She had to run to save Emilia. Her little sister should not – would not be subjected to what she had experienced.

"_As an older sibling Maria, you must protect your sister above everything else…"_

'I will Mamma,' Maria thought. 'I won't let him creep into her room to steal her innocence.'

"Come on Mia," Maria said, pulling her sister along.

"But Maria, I'm tired," Emilia moaned. "Can't we stop?"

"No!"

"Why not? My feet hurt."

"You don't know what pain is," Maria snapped. "Just do as I say!"

Emilia pulled her hand from Maria's and stopped beneath a lamp, her little face full of determination. Slowly she sat on the pavement, her arms across her chest, sulking under the vanishing night.

"Emilia, get up!" Maria cried hysterically. "We need to go! If someone sees us then…then we'll return to him."

Her black eyes glazed over and shuddering she locked the memory away.

"I don't care. I'm tired, my feet hurt and I'm hungry. I want my bed!"

Tears formed out of tiredness began to fall from Emilia's eyes and Maria grudgingly retraced her steps.

"I know Mia," Maria soothed, "but we need to go. Grandfather awaits us."

"No he doesn't! None of them care about us! I don't want to go there. I have friends here!"

"It's safer there."

"I don't care. I'm not moving."

Maria's face contorted with rage at her sister's selfishness. With a loud slap, she hit her sister so hard that the noise of her cold hand striking her cheek echoed through the deserted alleyways. Shocked, Emilia fell from her sitting position and dissolved into deeper howls.

"You're just like him," she cried. "You're just like Father."

A knife couldn't have cut as deep. Maria gasped and collapsed to her knees.

Was she really like him? She looked like him, but did she possess the same torn heart as he did? All she wanted to do was protect Emilia, more than she wanted to protect herself, but had she taken the wrong crossroad? Was she now standing at the door of the house of Minchin, ready to be let into their disgusting walls?

Slowly Maria placed an arm around her sister's shoulders.

"I'm sorry Mia."

Emilia whimpered as she ran a hand to brush away her tears.

"Can't we stop running Maria?" Emilia asked. "Please? I'm tired."

Defeated Maria agreed.

All night they sat on the pavement, and when the sun had risen and the streets had become crowded once more, the eleven-year-old Maria Minchin had accepted that for the remainder of her childhood, she would be nothing more than a pervert's concubine.

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**Sorry this chapter has taken so long. Damn writer's block.**

**This chapter felt rushed and I'm not too happy about it.**

**What do you think?**

**Also looking for a Beta (just take a look at my punctuation and you'll see why). Any offers?**

**Please review.**

**-x-**


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